


Eternity In Half-Life

by eerian_sadow



Series: Avalon [24]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Gen, Grief, HEADCANON AHOY, M/M, bring all your tissues, mentions of canon character deaths, original characters ahoy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2008-12-11
Updated: 2010-06-10
Packaged: 2018-05-17 21:36:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5886139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eerian_sadow/pseuds/eerian_sadow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the deaths of his bondmates, Perceptor must find a way to move on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this was origonally supposed to be one long one-shot, but i've changed my mind. perceptor's story--post TF:TM--seems to be coming in bits and pieces and cannon drabbles seem to be more the way to go. so, today, parts one and two of the series. i have no idea how long it will end up being.

He was bereft. Lost and alone in a void he no longer recognized, searching futilely for two thirds of a spark that could never be found again. He ached with a pain that was incorporeal, and therefore untreatable.

He wished he could do something to stop it.

Anything—absolutely anything—would be better than the aloneness he was drowning in now.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

The recharge berth was too big for Perceptor alone, but the Autobot army did not have the resources to replace it with something smaller right now. The scientist also didn’t know if he could manage to release this final piece of his bondmates, not when they had never really had belongings that were “theirs”. It was strange, most likely, that he attached such sentimental value to a piece of furniture.

The recharge berth and memory files were all he had left of Ratchet and Wheeljack.

He was horribly jealous of Jazz. The saboteur had Bluestreak, and even if the sniper hadn’t been sparked by Jazz and Prowl he was as much their offspring as if he had been. And the entirety of the Autobot army was giving Jazz and Blue condolences.

They seemed to have forgotten that Perceptor had been bonded at all.

Part of the scientist wished that he could scream or have tantrums—or do anything at all to get the attention of the mechs who were supposed to be his friends. He would do anything for someone—even one of the Decepticons at this point—to remember he was suffering as well and offer a word of comfort.

It didn’t seem like so much to ask, but it seemed incredibly selfish at the same time.

He wondered if Ratchet and Wheeljack would have scolded him for the desire.  



	2. Chapter 2

“Perceptor?”

The scientist turned, his attention having been brought very firmly back to reality by the timid sound of Bluestreak’s voice. “Yes?”

“Are you all right? I know that everyone keeps asking me and Jazz and Elita that, but no one seems to be checking up on you. And you looked…” The sniper trailed off, stopped either by his own train of thought or the expression on Perceptor’s face.

The scientist wouldn’t have been able to say which it was.

“No. I’m not all right. I won’t ever be all right again.” He turned his gaze back to the clouds, thinking of Wheeljack and his fondness for the fluffy white masses of water vapor. “I would be more all right if someone had removed two thirds of my processor.”

Bluestreak fell silent, though he didn’t leave. Perceptor wasn’t sure if he wished the younger mech would speak or if he wished he would leave. It was at least an hour before either of them found any words again.

“Thank you,” Perceptor finally said.

“For what?”

 _For caring._ “For Ratchet. I recognized what you did as the death rites neutrals use for their fallen. I know it is a sign of high respect among them.”

“I learned from Dasher when I was a sparkling. Before Prowl--” Bluestreak’s vocalizer glitched on his mentor’s name, but he continued. “Before I was adopted. It seemed like the right thing to do.”

“It was,” Perceptor told him, finally turning away from the clouds to look at him again. “It meant much more to me that you would do that than Ultra Magnus’ mass memorial ever could.”

“I could show you how,” the sniper said softly. “For Wheeljack, I mean.”

Perceptor felt both touched and hurt by the offer. It was a beautiful thing Bluestreak was offering him, especially knowing what it would remind him of, but it was also terrible. Performing a death rite for his bondmate would force him to process both their deactivations in a way he wasn’t sure he had been able to yet.

And it was knowledge he would never be able to allow himself to use again.

“Thank you, Bluestreak. I would be honored.” Honored, but irreversibly changed.  



	3. Chapter 3

He stared at the energon First Aid had set in front of him hours ago. He couldn’t drink, no matter how many warning messages his systems were giving him. He couldn’t make himself reach out and take the cube, no matter how empty his fuel tanks were.

“Please drink it, Perceptor.”

His gaze flicked t the door of his lab. He hadn’t heard First Aid come back in. “Why? All it will do is extend my life, and therefore my misery, for another day or two.”

First Aid looked horrified by the statement. “Don’t say things like that! You don’t really want to die, do you?”

“Yes, I do. I want it more than anything else in the universe.” Perceptor wondered if the young mech could ever understand.

“ _Why?_ ”

“Because I have nothing left to live for. Nothing holds my interest any more.” He leaned back in his chair and lifted his gaze to the ceiling. “The only two mechs who would really care if I died have already returned to the matrix. And no one here really needs me any more. I am useless and a drain on resources.”

“You’re not! You’re just hurting and lonely, but you can heal and move on. Look at Jazz; he lost his bondmate and—”

In a sudden flash of anger, Perceptor picked up the energon cube and threw it at the wall next to the young medic. “I am not Jazz!” he screamed. Then he buried his face in his hands and repeated, “I am not Jazz.”

“I know,” First Aid said, stepping over to him and wrapping him in a hug. “I know. I shouldn’t have compared you; I’m sorry.”

Perceptor let the younger mech hold him, trying to take some comfort in it. First Aid was trying, at least—something none of the other Autobots were doing.

“If I bring you more energon will you please drink it?” the medic asked after a while. “I care if you die.”

Somehow, the scientist managed to meet First Aid’s optics. “What?”

“I care if you live or die. Please?”

A small part of his spark soared at the words. Just knowing that _someone_ still cared meant far more than it probably should. “I’ll try.”  



	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this installment of the series takes place roughly a month after "Despair", which can be found [here](http://eerian-sadow.livejournal.com/224044.html#cutid1) and [here](http://eerian-sadow.livejournal.com/224896.html#cutid1).

“Perceptor?”

The scientist forced himself to look up when Hoist spoke. “Yes?”

The other mech was holding a large crate toward him. “I was going through the remains of the old labs and found this. It has your name on it.”

“My name?” Perceptor stood and walked over to Hoist. “Where did you find it?”

“Skyfire’s workroom.” The maintenance mech handed over the container with an expression that was close to sympathy.

The scientist almost dropped the crate. “Skyfire’s workroom?”

“Yes.” Hoist clearly wasn’t sure what else he should say; Skyfire was still a touchy subject with Perceptor--more so than Ratchet and Wheeljack, even.

Perceptor set the crate on his worktable--the table that was still distressingly empty, but he just couldn’t find it in him to work on any personal projects yet--carefully.

“There was a data pad, too.” Hoist set it next to the crate. “I didn’t read it, but he left your name on it, too.”

“Thank you.” He couldn’t quite get his optics to focus as he tried to sort the new jumble of thoughts in his head.

“Do… Do you need me to stay?”

“I--” Perceptor wasn’t sure if he did, but when he looked up at the other mech, Hoist looked so sincere--and more than a little concerned--that he relented. “Yes. It might help.”

It might not help either; he was still too raw and wounded from the pain of Skyfire leaving him when he needed his friends the most. With trembling fingers, he activated the datapad.

_Perceptor,_

I know it won’t make sense when you find out that I’ve gone. I couldn’t find the words to explain it, though. Not even to myself. Starscream would have been able to think of something, but I was never good with words at all.

I think that you and Jazz are the strongest mechs I know. Somehow, you’re surviving without the ones you loved the most and I am not. I didn’t even know I still cared so deeply for Star until he was gone. And that is why I had to go; I cannot burden you with my grief and the rest of the camp is full of strangers. I have to make peace with myself and with my feelings for Star and I couldn’t do it on Earth.

I know that will hurt you. I’m so sorry.

Someday, I hope that we meet again and that you can forgive me for abandoning you.

Skyfire

The scientist dropped the datapad onto the table next to the crate and covered his face with his hands. Skyfire had known how badly he would be hurt and he had still just left him. That it had been a knowing desertion doubled the pain.

“Shh…” He wasn’t even aware that he was making any kind of noise until Hoist wrapped his arms around him and hushed him. “You’re not alone, Perceptor.”

He still wondered about that, but he couldn’t argue the point while being held by his crewmate. For the first time since Ratchet and Wheeljack deactivated, Perceptor let himself be comforted by another mech.  



	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for tf_speedwriting, for the prompt “Peace comes with a price.”

She’d found him curled up on the floor of the tiny work room he kept in their home. He had been screaming at the time—the thing that had drawn her attention—and clutching at his chest plates. His screams had broken down into softer, broken noises when she laid her hands over his. He leaned into her, his head resting on her shoulder, and mourned his mates.

Clinically, she understood his pain though she had no first had experience with a spark bond or deactivated bondmates. She could not treat his physical pains—though the aches and twinges his spark gave were less now than they had been—and there was only so much she could do to soothe his emotional pain. Nothing but Ratchet and Wheeljack could heal this pain or soothe this loss and Perceptor would not see them again until his own spark gave out and he joined them in the Matrix.

She ached when she considered how many other lovers and bondmates had been destroyed by the war.

She wrapped her arms around him and crooned soothingly. Past experience had taught her—sometimes the hard way—that Perceptor would not move until he was ready and the best thing she could do was simply hold him up.

Not for the first time, though, she wished she could see his face. Or even simply offline her optics against the sympathetic pain she felt for him. But such things were impossible now, so she rested her head against his in poor substitution.

It was two long hours until he spoke. “I am sorry to be such a burden.”

“No, Perceptor. Never a burden.” She ran what she hoped was a soothing hand over his head. “You are many things, but a burden is not one of them.”

“A burden to myself then, perhaps,” the scientist said softly. He put his arms around her and held her tightly for a moment. “Thank you for your care, Emdee.”

“Always,” Emdee replied.

He rose then, shakily and obviously still in some pain. “May I help you up?”

She smiled softly at his consideration. It was still hard for her to feel like she was moving safely in his work room. “Thank you.”

He took her hands when she extended them and pulled her off the floor. She could feel the tremors still wracking his frame, but said nothing. She took his arm after she was on her feet, knowing he would want to guide her safely back to the rest of the house.

“I often wonder,” he said as they walked, “If I really am worth even a fraction of what they say anymore.”

“You are,” she replied. “You are still a brilliant scientist, and my very dear friend.”

As they walked, though, she wondered if their current peace was worth what they had paid for it.  



End file.
